


dots

by kaithartic (bluedreaming)



Category: EXO (Band), Japanese Actor RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/kaithartic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin waited, wondering if the man was asking what he thought he was asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dots

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** minor mention of implied homophobic culture, mentions of implied imbalanced power relationships in a certain social circles
> 
> (Prompt #148)

 

[[dots -foreword- poster]](http://i.imgur.com/p5MEcBH.jpg)

 

_“The passion in the beginning—_   
_it’s always going to be the best part of it.”_   
—Tove Lo, THE SEX

 

Mr Kim's blond hair is slick to his forehead with sweat; the light of the hotel room should be dim and inviting but it feels harsh. Jongin lies in the crumple of sheets, sweat beading on his skin, limbs loose after a good fucking but he feels empty.

The phone rings, the tone shrill. Jongin closes his eyes; it's not for him. Mr. Kim's voice is low, vowels slurred as he mumbles into the receive and Jongin isn't listening to the words, just the rise and fall of his voice.

The rhythm of the man thrusting into him, sheets curled between his fingers, head hanging down as his forehead keeps grazing the sheets.

Fingertips trail over his arm instead of goodbye, before the sound of the door opening and closing tells Jongin he's alone again.

"I should stop doing this," he tells the distant ceiling. There's no answer.

Jongin wonders how many times this makes. How many parties? Everything blurs together by now, the clothes, the faces, Mr. Kim's wayfarers.

Bodies are bodies, and when Jongin is working, he's just a mannequin that happens to move, no say of his own.

"Do you want to?" Mr. Kim always asks.

Jongin always says yes.

 

_“Sex is not the answer._   
_Sex is the question._   
_‘Yes’ is the answer.”_   
—Swami X

 

B E F O R E

There were too many bodies, too many voices; Jongin was tired and yet he didn't want to go home to his empty flat, all the rooms filled with nothing at all.

His face was still thick with makeup from the show, glitter creasing in the folds of his eyes.

"Look at him," Kiko whispered in his ear, her voice light, the stem champagne goblet balanced between her fingers. "CEO Kim."

Jongin instantly knew who she was talking about, the only person in room wearing shades. It was ridiculous. Jongin wished he could steal that pair of wayfarers off his face, cover his own eyes from the lights.

"The perks of being a CEO," he murmured to Kiko, who winked back, giving him a light push wish her free hand.

"He's your type," she said, "and you're perfect tonight."

Jongin didn't feel perfect. He felt crumpled and smudged and exhausted beyond belief, but he stole a mouthful of champagne from her glass and began stealing his way through the crowd, lifting a fresh pair of flutes from a tray as he passed by.

"You look thirsty," he said, offering the CEO one of the flutes. The man took the drink, face indecipherable behind his wayfarers.

"Thirsty for something else," he finally said, after taking a sip.

Jongin waited, wondering if the man was asking what he thought he was asking.

"This is a hotel," the man said, depositing the flute on a table as he started walking.

Jongin followed.

 

 _“We accept the love we think we deserve.”_  
―Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

 

Jongin is standing in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection, blond hair he didn't ask for, had no say in, a change from the silver hair he had also had no say in, when someone steps into the dressing room.

"You look nice," Kiko says.

"I look like what the stylist wants," Jongin says, not quite agreeing.

What is nice? He doesn't know.

"There's a message for you," Kiko says after a pause, and Jongin glances at her reflection in the mirror, gauging her expression. "It's from CEO Kim's secretary." There's a question in her eyes, and Jongin's not quite sure how to answer.

"I've seen Mr. Kim a couple of times," he says finally, still looking through the mirror.

Kiko understands what the name means. "Do you think he wants to keep you?" she asks, her brow furrowed.

"Is—is he married?" Jongin asks, because Kiko would know. It's not something he usually worries about, but then again he doesn't usually see people again. The lights and glitter and bodies coming together in the dimness have different rules than the light of day.

"No," she says, firmly, and Jongin feels a little better.

"I'm okay," he says, setting his shoulders. "It's just a message and I can say yes or no."

Kiko nods, but brushes his shoulder with her fingers as he walks by. "Value yourself," she reminds him, and nods, trying to feel the words.

Everyone seems to value him, for his looks at least. He wonders what Mr. Kim has to say.

 

_“You don't love someone because they're perfect,_   
_you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.”_   
―Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

 

Jongin walks through the door of the coffee shop, the bell ringing over his head, a sweet sound that makes him feel even more out of place.

It's not that he doesn't go to coffee shops, thought coffee isn't one of his favourite things. It's the fact that he's meeting someone _here_ , intentionally, no whispered words in a corner, his mouth tasting of toothpaste rather than champagne. His face is bare of makeup and he feels naked, even though his sweater is thicker than usual against the sudden spring chill.

"Jongin," a voice calls from a table near the window, and Jongin realizes, as he meets the soft brown of Mr. Kim's eyes, somehow warmer in the sunlight, that it's the first time he's called him by name.

Something unfurls, just a corner, in his chest as he walks over to the table and sits down, across from Mr. Kim.

"Hi, Mr. Kim," he says.

"Call me Junmyeon," Mr. Kim—Junmyeon—says. His wayfarers are nowhere in sight.

Jongin nods. Junmyeon is sipping from a steaming cup, the smell of vanilla hanging in a sweet cloud. He doesn't look anything like CEO Kim, bored and inaccessible in the cold lights. His hair is ruffled, buttery blond, and as Jongin follows the line of his arm, he sees that Junmyeon is wearing a pink-flowered Marimekko Pavot shirt.

He's seen that shirt in Kiko's closet.

There must be something showing in his face, Jongin realizes, when Junmyeon asks, "Do you like it?"

It sounds like he genuinely wants to know what Jongin thinks.

And Jongin realizes he does, somehow, like it. Like this Junmyeon.

"Yes," he says, agreeing to more than the shirt.

 

_“Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary.”_   
―Oscar Wilde

 

E P I L O G U E

"Do you have time on Friday night?" Junmyeon asks, running his fingers through Jongin's hair. They're lounging on the sofa in Junmyeon's living room, a complete Scandinavian transplant, complete with one of those iconic lövbacken side tables that holds a personal grudge against Jongin, at least judging by the number of times Jongin has stubbed his toes on it. There's a book open on Junmyeon's lap, _Moominsummer Madness_ , because Junmyeon insists that Jongin can't miss out on his childhood favourites. Jongin won't ever admit that he's not quite as into the exploits of the Moomintrolls as Junmyeon is, but he's definitely into Junmyeon reading to him in a clear voice as they snuggle together amidst Junmyeon's scattered Finlayson cushions.

"Friday night?" Jongin repeats, thinking. "I don't think I have anything—oh wait, there's that reception after the show." His voice trails off. It's at the K— Hotel, where he first met CEO Kim. It feels like a lifetime ago, lying here with his eyes shut, head resting on Junmyeon's thighs.

"Do you want to go with me?" Junmyeon asks, and Jongin's mind blanks. _With me?_

"Like—share the same car?" he asks, because he's not—what is Junmyeon—Jongin doesn't know what to think. He remembers Kiko's words, _"Do you think he wants to keep you?"_

Jongin knows how it goes, with CEOs and models, celebrities. Male models. Male celebrities.

"No," Junmyeon says, shifting on the couch, and Jongin sits up because he wants to look at Junmyeon's face.

Junmyeon eyes are clear. "I want to go to the reception, be at the reception, together with you."

"Oh," Jongin says, because he doesn't know what to say. He never thought that this—that Junmyeon actually—

"Is that—are you okay with that?" Junmyeon asks, faint worry budding in his expression, and Jongin doesn't want that.

"Yes," Jongin says, as Junmyeon's smile spreads across his face face, as he can feel an echoing smile spread across his own. "Yes."

 

_“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing_   
_and rightdoing there is a field._   
_I'll meet you there._   
  
_When the soul lies down in that grass_   
_the world is too full to talk about.”_   
―Rumi

 

[[dots -afterword- poster]](http://i.imgur.com/ChenuOG.jpg)

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to A and R for talking it over with me, and to K and A for the conversation that inspired the title.
> 
> **Prompt:** A CEO and a model (or idol) start out with casual motel hook ups after events, that eventually turn into something more, things get a little sticky.
> 
> Also posted on [suhoney](http://suhoneyfest.livejournal.com/9778.html) (additional comments)


End file.
